


Thalassophobia

by CandidCanine



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Alternating Timelines, Angst, Demon Days Era, Gift Fic, HEED THESE TAGS BEFORE YOU READ, M/M, Murdoc is a little messed up in here (but it's a PB fic so what do you expect?), Not Canon Compliant, Phase Three (Gorillaz), Phase Two (Gorillaz), This is a fic about fears, alternating pov, and feelings, and the destructive ways in which 2D and Murdoc will cope with them, click away, plastic beach era, please note this fic contains a noncon scene by the end, so if that’s not your cup of tea, with horrific consequences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:33:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28012464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CandidCanine/pseuds/CandidCanine
Summary: “You’re scared of whales, Dents. Whales. Of all the things to be scared of, it’s bloody whales. A kid has more backbone than you. You could've gone for sharks, chrissakes. Snakes. Spiders. Or even the zombies from those horror films you like so much.Thatwould've been more respectable. Not by much, but at least they aren't whales.”This is a story about fears.Murdoc finds out 2D's weakness and the paradigm of their relationship shifts, ever-so-slightly.2D finds out Murdoc's, and it changes completely.
Relationships: Murdoc Niccals/Stuart "2D" Pot
Comments: 29
Kudos: 68





	Thalassophobia

**Author's Note:**

> This is your last chance to turn back! Please heed the tags. One scene between 2D and Murdoc that occurs near the end is quite graphic and descriptive. If you think it's not for you, feel free to click out. Consider this my last warning for any of you hapless people expecting a cute 2doc fic.

**Kong Studios, July 2005**

_He can’t recall the exact date he had found out about it, but it must’ve been a slow day. Because otherwise, Murdoc wouldn’t have chosen to piss away the better part of his late-night hours watching cheesy B horror movie reruns with the person he least liked spending time with. He also must’ve been in a good mood, too, because managing to spend hours alone with this person without throttling him was a feat Murdoc so rarely accomplished. Not without a liquor store’s worth of rum._

_In any case, it was hardly an Earth-shattering revelation. It's just another in a running list of things he could use against 2D._

_He could only vividly remember one conversation from that night. He had been lounging right across the singer on a familiar red couch in one of Kong Studios’ many rooms. It’s old, worn, moth-eaten, and definitely something they should’ve tossed out ages ago, but somehow it’s stuck around long enough for the band to stop caring about replacing it._

_It’s also, inconveniently, an extremely tiny three-seater. Not really a problem, because he and 2D had chosen to sit as far apart from each other as the sofa allowed. The distance between them might as well be a chasm._

_Until the other man decided to reach across the gap first._

_After the credits rolled on the last film (“Thank fuck it’s over”, “Aw Muds, it wasn’t that bad”, “If I have to hear the phrase ‘demon vampire mummy’ one more time, I’ll commit another felony_ right now _”), Murdoc grabbed the TV remote from the messy coffee table in front of them and changed the channel, ignoring 2D’s griping._

_He had half a mind to settle on MTV, but when the clumsy crooning of a country singer assaulted his ears, he seamlessly switched to another channel, this time showing yet another horror movie with truly dreadful special effects. Murdoc swore under his breath and sighed at the onscreen actors' stiff, unnatural delivery of dialogue about another absurd premise he couldn't give a fuck about. Something about whale-hunting? A rogue bloodthirsty man-eater on the loose? What would they think of next?_

_He was about to make a snide comment when his bandmate went completely still beside him. Slim fingers wrapped tightly around the TV remote in his hand, tight and clammy. Murdoc’s brows travel to his hairline as he side eyed 2D. The man's hand was cold to the touch, and the abrupt physical contact nearly startled Murdoc._

_“Fucking hell, you’ll get your turn when it’s done_ _—_ _” The bassist shoved him, more as a reflexive action than something done in irritation with the other man. But 2D didn’t budge._

_“Change the channel.”_

_“What?” Murdoc turned to stare at his bandmate, but 2D wasn’t even looking at him. He was glued to the screen in front of them. Murdoc can’t see 2D’s face all that well in the dark, but from the barest hints of light from the TV screen, he could’ve sworn he saw mild terror flicker across the other’s features._

_“Change the channel, Murdoc._ Please. _”_

_The use of the word ‘please’ gave Murdoc pause, but the petty side of him made him stand his ground and wrench the remote away. “And why should I?”_

_He got his answer when the movie switched from the previous scene of a shark to a shot of a humpback whale breaching next to a tiny boat of whale watchers._

“MURDOC—!”

_Murdoc didn’t even have a chance to react to the stunning visual. One moment he was admiring the sight of the massive animal opening its mouth wide enough to swallow a boat whole, the next, he heard a girlish screech of fear that nearly deafened him and had his field of view obscured by a singer. Said singer then practically sat on his lap in an attempt to wrest the remote from him._

_“Get offa me, Faceache_ _—_ _!”_

_“I-I-I told you to change the channel!”_

_It was surprisingly difficult to keep 2D away, what with the other man possessed with a strength that was completely unlike his normal self. When it was made apparent that Murdoc wouldn’t relinquish the TV remote to him, 2D settled for the next best thing._

_Murdoc gets surprised for the second time_ _that night when long, lanky arms wrapped around his waist and pinned him to the couch. The movement was so sudden, so comically out of character for 2D, that Murdoc could only gape until the tufts of blue hair tickling his nose and the pleasing aftersmell of butterscotch brought him back down from his daze._

_“Err, Dents. Why’re you acting all weird? Stop hugging me.”_

_It took several moments for 2D to answer. Each second that passed only made Murdoc more hyperaware of 2D, his lean body pressed right up against his. He could feel his own heartbeat._

_The answer was much more underwhelming than Murdoc had anticipated._

_“I, uh. M’afraid of whales, Murdoc.”_

* * *

**???, ??? 2008**

2D wouldn't say his life after Gorillaz’ second breakup was better, but it was exactly what he needed after everything that happened. It's difficult and unexciting most of the time, but it’s rewarding in a sense. His dull days make it easy to forget what led to him living that way in the first place. And that's exactly what he wanted to do: forget.

He tries a little slice of everything he’s ever missed by being an internationally recognized star by 19. He studies law. Writes. Even returns for a short time to his father’s funfair, managing his dodgems. Eventually, he does settle down, in the capital city of Lebanon of all places. Beirut was… an experience. It's a city both familiar yet foreign at the same time. It wouldn't be the first place he would've chosen to live, but it does a damn good job of giving the exact environment 2D craved: a place where he can sink into anonymity with relative ease, with plenty enough going on to keep him occupied for a good while.

The whole experience— wandering around Beirut, going by “Stuart” instead of “2D”, having the number of people who recognized him drop to nearly nil as the hiatus stretched on— was a refreshing change, at least.

He was...content. 

But when it came to 2D, even relative peace was fleeting.

One day, 2D is roused from slumber, waking to pitch-black after what had been an otherwise normal day of admiring the view of Beirut from his flat. 

He isn't woken peacefully, though, he‘s forcefully brought to consciousness when the hard impact of his body on the surface of whatever he landed on radiates pain from his tailbone all the way up to his spine. The next few minutes are pure confusion as he tries to figure out what was happening.

At first he thinks he was asleep, but the terrible pain in his back tells him otherwise. To his horror, when he tries to move any of his limbs, he’s met with the thud of a hard surface.

He’s been crammed into a _box._

His next thought, then, is one of wild paranoia about one of his recurring nightmares. The one where everyone thought he was dead but he actually wasn't; he was paralyzed, and he could only lie motionless while he was stuffed into a casket and buried alive. 

But no. No, it couldn't be. 2D isn't in a casket, the space he’s confined in was obviously too small to be one. He doubted any casket would be so tiny as to force him to contort his body in such painful angles. It could barely contain someone of his height. If it wasn't for his slender build, he would definitely not have fit in it. This was somehow _worse._

 _Oh God._ He’s gripped with such fear that his breathing quickened and he starts to shift around in his enclosure. All he could think of was to get out. 2D can't stand small spaces, and he never liked the darkness. Already it felt suffocating, like he didn't have enough room to breathe. He tries to scream for help, to yell, but his voice was far too hoarse for that, and soon his screams devolve into meager coughs and whimpers.

After what seems like an eternity, he gives up on attempting to alert someone to his situation, and instead opts for an escape attempt. He slams his fists against the hard wall of his tiny cage repeatedly. When that doesn’t work, he presses the soles of his feet onto the surface right above him. Panic turns to excitement as he starts to kick at it, tentatively at first, then violently, until suddenly, the surface jostles.

Glorious bright sunlight entered the space and seared his eyes, and the breeze from outside lapped at his face. His limbs now suddenly freed, 2D stretches his sore body with some difficulty. He looked above him, marveling at the expanse of blue. He thinks to himself not to take his “tiny” flat in Beirut for granted anymore as he took a huge lungful of the fresh air from outside—

2D clamps a hand over his nose as an absolutely putrid stench assaults him. Trying not to wretch, he lifts himself out of his box and steps out on shaky legs to find the source of the offending odor. The sight that greets him stunned him so much that he forgets all about the ache of his own limbs.

The smell is _everywhere._ He plugs his nose and looks up in equal parts wonder and disgust, staring at an enormous mass with a mushroomed peak that rises high above the land surrounding it. He could make out the shape of a building perched at the top, but that isn't what immediately pops out to him. Rather, it was the tiny detail of the whole landmass painted in a garish, eye-popping, and unnatural shade of bright pink.

_Pink?_

Upon closer inspection, he realizes to his amazement (and disgust) that each and every inch of space as far as he could see consisted entirely of garbage. Heaping piles of it; just lumps of metal and plastic and glass and an assortment of other trash that made up a thick column of support. Junk made to appear slightly less nauseating by the poor paint job. He looks down, closer to his feet, and indeed confirms that he’s also standing in a rubbish pile. His left boot was submerged in a brown mixture of sludge and dark weeds.

_...Rubbish???_

2D plugs his nose and steps back, trying to find a drier place to stand on. An open suitcase to his side, just big enough to be his makeshift coffin, catches his interest.

It didn’t take him long to decide that he wanted to leave as soon as humanly possible. 

But if only 2D could. Because upon second glance, he realizes one more thing. One thing that would make leaving impossibly difficult.

The putrid, pink, and plastic landmass he was on? It’s an island. A tiny island right in the middle of the ocean.

He pauses right at the edge of the shore, looking helplessly out at the endless waves of choppy blue waters. Just as 2D started to lose all hope, _he_ appeared.

The man he hadn’t seen in years grins at him manically and sweeps his hands out in a mocking gesture as he approached him. He looks almost exactly like 2D remembered, even though it's been years since he’d last encountered him.

“Welcome to Plastic Beach, ‘D,” Murdoc greets.

* * *

**Kong Studios, October 2005 - a few months later**

_“Look, Dents. It’s your worst nightmare.”_

_Every last Friday of each month, the whole band sits in the dining room and opens some letters. It’s a quaint little tradition that’s been around since they’ve debuted their first album. Nowadays, they’re recognizable enough to have a steady stream of mail coming to Kong. It wouldn’t be strange for them to hire an assistant to do the thankless job of sorting, but Murdoc will stick to the belief that writing back to a few lucky people or acknowledging them would be good for their public image. It adds a personal touch to their band, separated them from the hundreds of other breakout artists of similar breed._

_No, that didn’t mean he was sentimental. 2D can lay the fuck off._

_At the sound of his name, 2D peeked out from a mound of letters and cards piled high on the dinner table to squint at his bandmate. Murdoc smirked at the rumpled card in his hand and stuffed it back into its envelope._

_“Murdoc,” Russel warned with a glare that could wilt flowers. Murdoc paid him no mind._

_“More fan mail?” asked 2D offhandedly, twirling a pen in his hand. “Can’t that wait till tomorrow? I’ve got loads of letters to respond to, unlike you.”_

_“Bullshit. If you only started early like the rest of us, you’d be halfway through your stack. “Take Noodle. She finished before you opened half of yours, and now she's left an hour ago.”_

_2D pointedly glanced at Murdoc’s pile._

“Muds,” _Russel gritted out when Murdoc’s own pen bounced off 2D’s head._

_“What? Dents needed something pointy to pop that overinflated ego of his.”_

_“Muds is just jealous_ —”

_“Right, that’s it.” Russel groaned and slapped the table. “I’m beat. I think I’ve had enough of you two for today. Have fun annoying the crap outta each other.”_

_2D let his chin fall onto his palm when Russel left. “Y’know, we don’t need to read all of ou_ — _”_

_Murdoc interrupted 2D mid-sentence, tossing the envelope at him. The singer only cocked an eyebrow in response when he picked it up._

_It only took 2D a second to know why Murdoc was smirking when he read it. Huffing, 2D slapped the letter face-up on the table, pure displeasure clearly written all over his face. A crudely drawn picture of a whale, scribbled in bright blue marker, adorns the face of the card, and a smiling black stick figure sits astride it like a knight atop a steed, its shock of blue hair the exact same color as the whale._

_“Stop taking the piss outta me, Murdoc. I’ll call Russ back in here.”_

_“Why, don’t like what your fan drew for you? Shocker. Imagine how they’d feel. You just broke some poor kid’s heart.”_

_“It’s some kid’s drawing, I’ve got no problem with it,” 2D huffed. “I don’t understand what’s so funny about me being afraid of whales. It’s been months since you found out and you’re still laughin’ about it.”_

_“It_ is _funny,” Murdoc interjected._ _“You’re scared of whales, Dents. Whales. Of all the things to be scared of, it’s bloody whales.” Murdoc tapped the card. “A kid has more backbone than you. You could've gone for sharks, chrissakes. Snakes. Spiders. Or even the zombies from those horror films you like so much._ That _would've been more respectable. Not by much, but at least they aren't whales.”_

_“Why would I be afraid of zombies? They’re not real. I don’t hafta worry 'bout them,” 2D replied dismissively. “Whales, on the other hand…”_

_“Don’t be thick.” Murdoc took another envelope from his pile of fan mail on the table. He grimaced when he noticed that the letter inside was a dozen pages long, and in fine 10-point size print. Single-spaced. “You’ve got as much chance of a whale hurting you as a zombie gnawing your face off. Whales are docile creatures... Oh hell, look at this one. I’ve read novellas shorter than this.”_

_2D makes a face at Murdoc’s letter. “I ain’t reading that. And... I just don’t like ‘em, alright?” 2D said as he set aside his card and tore open a new one. “Don’t you have something you’re afraid of, too? Y’know, dumb, stupid fears. Something you’re afraid of that doesn’t make any sense.”_

_Murdoc paused while flicking through the pages to look up at 2D. The singer was too distracted with a letter dusted entirely in pink glitter to see the bassist glance at him. The silence lasted only a split second._

_“Me? I’m Murdoc Niccals. I_ have _no fears. I make deals with the Devil and I sold my soul for this band. You really think I’d be afraid of anything after all that?”_

_2D’s face turned thoughtful. “I dunno, Murdoc. I think fears are like regrets… everyone’s got at least one funny one, yeah? Isn’t there anything that scares you? Anything at all.”_

_“Going to prison. Being around dull people."_

_"Those aren’t fears, they’re more… erm…” 2D’s voice trails off as he struggled to find what to say. “Inconveniences?”_

_“If you think prison is just an_ inconvenience—”

 _“Jesus, I’m just_ — _nevermind. Should’ve known I wouldn’t get a straight answer from you.” 2D sighed, resuming his letter-opening. “I’m sure you’re afraid of something, Murdoc. S’okay if you don’t want to tell.”_

 _"I've got nothing to hide, it's the truth. I don’t scare easily, like_ some _people I know.”_

* * *

**Point Nemo, June 2008 - same day**

Plastic Beach, he called it. A place so isolated that it was literally the furthest point from any other landmass. Only endless blue in all directions. The island’s constant companion is the sea.

There didn’t use to be an island here, Murdoc told him. The only reason why there even _was_ a Plastic Beach was because a century of human inaction had resulted in tons of trash accumulating into one smelly, heaping pile in the middle of the ocean: Point Nemo. It’s barely habitable, but Murdoc’s resourcefulness wasn’t anything to sniff at. He’s transformed many useless things into something meaningful; remade them into something he could utilize for his own benefit. Plastic Beach was just another point in his exhaustive repertoire.

If only the end results of Murdoc’s efforts now weren't the closest thing to a living nightmare for 2D.

“So… you’re telling me that you built a new ‘HQ’ on this island full o’ rubbish? _On purpose?_ Did you do the piss-poor paint job too?” 2D asks sardonically, already beyond caring about Murdoc’s infamously bad temper. He steps away from Murdoc and starts walking along the shoreline in a desperate bid to find an escape route. 

The island was far larger than he had previously thought, but it was still claustrophobically small. He reckons that he’d be able to walk the circumference of the entire island in a little less than half an hour. There’s a small lighthouse on the far end of the island, as well as a pier, but there’s no boat or ship docked nearby.

A hint of a scowl passes over Murdoc’s face when he's ignored, but he manages to keep his composure. “Oi, d’you know how much work it took to make this island look as good as it does now, Dents? I gave up everything. D’you think this was cheap? The renovation drained all of my funds.”

“Shame I don’t care.”

“I used the money from Kong Studios to build Plastic Beach from the ground up,” Murdoc went on, quickening his pace to catch up with him, “and that was the easy part. Hell on Earth, trying to convince insurance companies to give me money for the, erm, ‘accident.’ You should’ve seen the paperwork. S’like trying to squeeze blood from a stone. Stingy cunts.”

 _Accident? Insurance money?_ “I heard about Kong’s accident in the news. Are...are you saying _you_ burned down Kong Studios?” 2D says in disbelief, his heart sinking. “Not some kid?”

“No. Cared enough to look it up, did you? Don’t tell me you actually missed that place.”

Murdoc sounded almost casual. If 2D wasn’t in such a panic, this conversation would’ve been one of the most civil they’ve ever had.

“It’s not like I missed it! I-I-I can’t believe you burned it down, how could you just— we had loads of memories in Kong, just you an’ me an’ Russel and…” 2D’s voice falters. “Noodle…”

Murdoc visibly flinches. Before 2D could say anything else, Murdoc reaches out and grabs him by the shoulder, stopping the other man in his tracks.

“Well, you can make more ‘memories’ here just fine, seeing as you’re not going anywhere right now.”

2D's blood runs cold at Murdoc’s matter-of-fact tone. There it was, the hint of the Murdoc he knew bleeding into the edges. He had almost forgotten how he had arrived on the island: alone, stuffed into a tiny suitcase, disoriented and fearful for his life as he tried desperately to comprehend what had just happened to him. 2D never would’ve agreed to come here willingly. 

Murdoc was way too calm. 

He might’ve built Plastic Beach, but why was _2D_ here, then? How did he even get to Plastic Beach?

Slowly, 2D turns to his bandmate, swallowing a lump in his throat.

“How'd I get here?” he finally asks. Murdoc smiles grimly in reply. 

That look was all 2D needed. He shakes out of Murdoc’s grasp, horrified. “You’ve gone mental, haven’t you? Did you— did you really kidnap me?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t call it kidnapping. I’d call it… hmm… repatriation? I’m only returning something to where it belongs. Didn’t I tell you before? I saved your life, now you owe me your soul. You’ll come back if I _want_ you to.”

“Fuck off, Murdoc. We both know I haven’t believed in that for years.”

“I’m planning an album,” Murdoc begins again, ignoring 2D in favor of beginning one of his famous incoherent rants, “and it’ll be a revolutionary one, mind. One that’ll wake everyone up to the issues that humanity needs to work on as a whole. It’ll be the real kick in the arse that people need to make a collective, conscious effort to address them. D’you know what I’m talking about?”

“You need help.”

“I’m talking about the Earth! Mother Nature in all its splendor. We’re rotting this planet from the inside out, and we’re doing it too fast to stop it,” the bassist says, gesticulating wildly. “I'm _not_ about to be one of those treehugger types, dullard. All talk and just sittin' pretty. Performative bullshit. I want to do something _meaningful,_ something that'll actually get through to people. And the only way to do that is through music.”

Had it not been for 2D’s current state of mind, there was a small chance that he could’ve considered it. “...why did you even bring me here? Can’t you record somewhere else? Literally _anywhere_ else?”

“No, and you know why? Look at this beach.” Murdoc sweeps his hand out at Plastic Beach, like a realtor showing off a prized property. “This stinking, massive heap is a symptom of the neglect that we as a species have done to our planet. And it’s only getting bigger year by year. It’s the perfect visual representation of my concept for the new project. It’ll be a gamechanger, Dents. It could be my magnum opus. And you, my peerless, somewhat-infuriating, one-and-only singer of my band, will have the fortune of helping me make it a reality.”

“Who says I want to do it? M’not gonna be part of any album that has you in it! Find someone else!”

“You think I haven’t tried that yet? Thing is, much as I’d love to leave _you_ out of this equation, I won’t be able to make it without you. I can change everything else, even replace your appalling keyboarding skills with machines, but you can’t switch the singer of a band.”

“Bollocks. I can name some bands that had different singers and did just fine. AC/DC—”

“Bon Scott died ‘fore they thought to replace him. You want to end up like him, Dents?” Murdoc tells him in a scornful tone. “For Satan’s sake, stop whinging. You should be thanking me for even thinking about you. It’s our first Gorillaz album in what, three, four years? Let’s give the people what they want. Stick around, c’mon.”

“Fuck off, Murdoc, m’not staying here a second longer!”

“You see a way out?” 

2D kicks at a piece of glass on the ground absentmindedly and gazes off in the direction of the lighthouse. If he squints hard enough, he almost swears that there’s an outline of a ship in the distance. But he blinks, and it’s gone.

There’s no way off the island.

He turns and sneers at Murdoc. “Y’know what, Muds? I’d rather take my chances with a whale eating me than spend another second with you, you twisted, sick, _evil_ bastard of a bassist, you—” before 2D could finish his acrimonious speech with a flourish of insults, a loud crack resounded, followed shortly by the dull thud of a body dropping to the floor.

2D didn’t even have a chance to react. One moment he was hovering over Murdoc, using his height as an advantage to try to intimidate the shorter man, the next, he was lying by the other’s feet, beads of rich red blood dripping down his face like perspiration. A bolt of white-hot pain stabs at the side of 2D’s skull, blinding and sharp. 

Murdoc hadn’t budged an inch.

“Funny you should say that,” Murdoc replies as he towers over his body, gazing down at him with indifference. “M’done playing nice, Faceache. I don’t have enough time to play welcoming committee. I have other things to attend to. We’ll talk later.”

2D knits his brows in confusion when Murdoc looks past him, his gaze fixed at a point right behind him. The bassist whistles and motions with his hand. 

To 2D’s surprise, he hears the slow shuffle and the crunch of gravel under an unseen person’s footsteps.

“Take care of the dullard, yeah? Make sure he’s settled in and don’t let him out of your sight. One o' him is worth a thousand of you.” Murdoc addresses the new arrival with a cold tone, like a sergeant giving orders to his inferior. After what seemed like an eternity, an amorphous blob steps into view. He blinks away the blurry spots in his vision.

 _“Noodle?”_ 2D croaks when his eyes had adjusted.

_It couldn’t be._

But it was. Noodle, of all people, pauses to stand right beside Murdoc, rigid and stiff as a board. It’s so unlike the fluid, bouncy energy that 2D knew of the frenetic little girl who grew up with the band. The Noodle now was impassive and devoid of emotion, her expression completely alien and out of place on her young face. And yet, she was exactly as 2D remembered, down to the exact features: as if she had not aged a day after seemingly plummeting to her death a few years ago.

There was no recognition in her gaze when she directed it at 2D. He should’ve realized something felt off... but still, the old memories stirred something in him. He reaches out and clasps Noodle’s leg.

“Noodle! Noodle, I’m so glad to see ya. Y-y-you hafta help me! M-murdoc— he kidnapped me an’—”

Murdoc stomps down hard on 2D’s wrist, cutting him off mid-sentence yet again. Not on his vulnerable keyboardist fingers, as 2D sourly notes later, but his slender wrist. 2D’s feeble grip on Noodle’s leg is easily broken.

“That’s not Noodle,” Murdoc informs him, unperturbed. He ignores the other’s pitiful whimpers. “And she’s not here to help you. Enjoy your new accommodations, Dents.”

The last thing 2D sees before he slips into sweet darkness is the view of Murdoc stepping over him. Not-Noodle goes to grab 2D by the collar of his shirt and drag him bodily to his destination, brandishing the bloodied bat in her other hand.

* * *

**Kong Studios, November 2005 - three weeks later**

  
  


_It was another slow day._

_Murdoc’s experiencing a keen sense of deja vu— but for what, he couldn’t quite recall at that moment. It doesn’t happen often, but in the span of a few short weeks, Murdoc had found himself back in the sole company of 2D, doing absolutely nothing at an ungodly hour of the night. They were sitting on that same godforsaken couch, the tiny three-seater in Kong Studios that was still entirely too small for two people in Murdoc’s opinion. At least when there’s a six-foot man determined to take up as much space as he physically could._

_“Get your legs off my lap, Dents.”_

_“My legs ain’t on your lap.”_

_“I don't care. You're still too close.”_

_Truthfully, it didn't really matter much to Murdoc. He just needed to find a reason to complain._

_“There’s nowhere else to go, Muds.” 2D waves to a nonexistent spot on the sofa on his opposite side._

_“There’s always the floor.”_

_The alcohol burning in their systems had loosened their tongues, 2D especially— there were other drugs swirling in his system that Murdoc didn’t care to know about. Maybe they should’ve done the sensible thing and head to bed at the same time as Russel and Noodle, but Murdoc was in such high spirits from the completion and release of their second album to care much about being sensible. Never mind the band meeting tomorrow morning, they’ve just created a masterpiece._

_To his chagrin, 2D decided to stick around when the other two had left._

_“M’not even touching ya. Murdoc, do you really hate me that much?” 2D whined, bringing his knees to his chest._

_He's still way too close for Murdoc’s tastes. And in his opinion, getting a tad too comfortable with his close proximity to him. 2D’s arm was slung around the back of the sofa, hand dangling close to Murdoc’s other shoulder like a jealous lover's._

_“'Do I really hate you'? Is that even a question?” Murdoc replied nastily. “Of course I despise ya, Dents. Always have.”_

_2D almost looked disappointed by the answer._

_There wasn't enough energy left in Murdoc to tell 2D to fuck off. Well, at least a generous dose of whiskey had put him in a good enough mood to somewhat tolerate 2D sprawling out on the tiny sofa, crowding him out with his gangly limbs._

_“Where’s the remote?” 2D asked sullenly, changing the topic. He propped his feet on the coffee table in front of them and took a swig from his half-empty bottle._

Now, if only this tosser would learn about personal space...

_By the end of their night, 2D had made himself comfortable, switching channels on the TV in boredom. He cycles through dozens before landing on one showing a nature documentary. There's a calm image of a picturesque sea, with a small camera crew overlooking the gorgeous scenery. In the background, a small pod of dolphins circled their boat curiously._

_“Those dolphins are cute, don’tcha think, Muds?”_

_Murdoc’s sense of deja vu grows stronger._

_“You don’t look all that bothered by the dolphins,” Murdoc observed, trying to dispel the feeling._

_“Why would I be?” 2D took another slow pull from his bottle. Murdoc didn’t know how many the other man had, but he does know that 2D disappeared halfway through their viewing session for a few short minutes. Presumably to shake out the contents of the Tylenol bottle in his bedroom and exacerbate his condition. It's a wonder he's still coherent._

_“They’re cetaceans.”_

_“Se-tay-shuns?”_

_Murdoc sighed. “They’re whales too. Dolphins are whales.”_

_2D slowly turned to the frolicking dolphins on the screen, scratching the back of his head. “I didn’t know that.”_

_“Pillock.”_

_“I think they’re cute,” 2D went on._

_“So you’re not afraid of whales.”_

_“No, I am. Just not the dolphins?”_

_They continue watching the nature documentary in companionable silence. It’s not Murdoc’s usual fare, but the squeaks of the dolphins are cheerful enough to put him out of his usual foul mood. He’s acclimating to the ease of his and 2D’s meaningless conversations in a way that he usually didn’t. It’s been happening more and more lately._

_“How ‘bout killer whales?” Murdoc asked, tearing open a new bag of crisps._

_“Muds, that has the word ‘killer’ and ‘whale’ in it, you don’t need to ask, yeah?”_

_“They’re dolphins, you melon. Killer whale is just another name for an orca. Orcas are dolphins.” He's arguing semantics. All meaningless. But it’s always fun to get a rise out of 2D._

_“Aren’t they massive? Well, yeah. I’m terrified o’ them. Doesn’t matter if they’re dolphins or whales, they still scare me.”_

_“So you don’t even know what you’re afraid of, then. Typical of you,” Murdoc concluded, unimpressed._

_“No, I do! It’s hard to tell, alright? I can’t put my finger on it. There’s just, a threshold of whale-ness, traits an’ whatnot, that dolphins haven’t reached. But orcas do,” 2D traced the rim of his bottle. “I think what I’m scared of isn’t exactly the whale, it’s… everything about it.”_

_A voiceover started to explain the history of the pod of dolphins onscreen while one of the crew slipped into the water with the mammals. Murdoc snorted._

_“So are you or are you not afraid of whales?” Murdoc stifled a yawn, barely paying attention to the documentary. “The suspense is killing me.”_

_2D went silent beside him for so long that Murdoc’s eyes slid over to him to gauge his reaction. His bandmate was staring into the TV screen, but his glazed-over eyes scream that he’s seeing something else in his mind. That, or he’s had one too many to drink, as usual._

_Maybe it’s both._

_“You ever gaze out at the ocean an’ realize how mind bogglingly vast it is?” 2D suddenly continues, his sentences blending together. He returned Murdoc’s stare in kind. “I’ve never done that, but I’ve dreamt about it. Just being out there… alone… nothin but you an’ some water as far as the eye can see. Now… now try being_ in _the water. Not knowing how deep it is and how far down it goes. You’re already scared of drowning, and… and along comes this… this whale. Smart, terrifying creatures, fuckin’ massive as hell, travel in packs like wolves. I don’t know a thing about what they could do or what they_ will _do to me… and they’ve got tails and fins that can dwarf entire boats.”_

_“You’re afraid because they’re big, wily bastards?”_

_“I dunno. It doesn’t even hafta look like a whale, even. It’s the thought of not knowing what’ll happen when I’m in the water with them, I guess. You can tell you gotta stay away from sharks, or lions, or snakes, but whales? Soon as you see one, you’re just… struck with awe. There’s nowhere to run from them in the ocean. It’s the helplessness that gets to me.”_

_That was far more of an eloquent answer than Murdoc had expected from a buzzed 2D. He blinked and scratched his chin, looking thoughtful._

_“Ah. So you’re afraid of a feeling, then.”_

_"A feeling?" 2D parroted, puzzled. He blinked and tilted his head owlishly. “...Maybe?”_

_“You are. You’re not afraid of the whales, you’re afraid of what they mean to ya. What they represent,” Murdoc suggested, trying to put the pieces together. “You said it yourself. It’s fear of the unknown.”_

_On the TV, the dolphins squeaked and chittered around the diver excitedly. The man suddenly dipped underwater, where the camera shot switched to a top-down view, showing the endless abyss underneath his tiny form. The water’s color was a near pitch-black, gulping the diver whole in its darkness._

_2D shuddered._

_“Thalassophobia,” Murdoc said after some time._

_“What?”_

_“Fear of the sea, Dents. I reckon that’s what you have. You don’t know what would happen to you when you’re drowning in it. The whales are secondary.”_

_2D hummed, but his expression suggested that he didn’t really agree._

_“Dunno about that, Murdoc. I have loads of good memories of the sea.”_

_As if to prove his point, the documentary’s scene transitioned to a shot of a picturesque beach. 2D’s previously tense body relaxed._

_“I love beaches,” 2D said offhandedly._

_“Not afraid of washing out to sea from a beach and getting eaten by a whale then?”_

_The camera crew was walking along the shoreline of the beach now. Apparently, the show was shot somewhere off the coast of Ocho Rios, a bustling port town in the Caribbean. The crew started to take snapshots of the local scenery._

_It’s peaceful, but frightening in its familiarity._

_“Well, when I’m at a beach, I’m not alone. I know you or someone else will pull me out of the water if I need help.”_

_The beach onscreen was fairly crowded, with tons of tourists in the background milling around. 2D’s face split into a small smile when the camera crew stopped to watch a child attempting to climb a palm tree for coconuts. Murdoc tried to ignore the scene._

_“So, not really. And, beaches make me happy, Muds. Doesn’t it remind you of something?”_

_“No.”_

_There was that damn disappointment again. Murdoc wished he could wipe it off 2D's face._

_The five or so people on the TV pass by a restaurant proudly displaying the Jamaican flag. Murdoc groaned. He's had more than enough of the documentary. He turned to 2D, then tried to snatch the remote from the other’s grasp. Unfortunately, the singer noticed in the nick of time, moving it away from reach._

_“Murdoc, what’re you—”_

_“I don’t fancy a trip to memory lane. Let’s change the channel to something worth watching,” Murdoc complained, feigning ignorance._

_“_ I _think it's worth watching," 2D insisted stubbornly._

_“It's rubbish. What if they show a real whale? You'll just scare yourself again, like when you watched that cheesy horror film with the murderwhale and nearly hugged me to death. You didn't sleep that night, didn't you? Remember that?”_

_“It'll be different this time!”_

_“How? I don't care for playing nanny, I already tie your sodding shoelaces. I'm not here to coddle you if you get scared over a damn whale. Get over yourself and deal with it,” Murdoc snapped._

_2D recoiled from Murdoc as if he'd been burnt. The short silence was enough distraction for Murdoc to pry the remote from the other's grasp._

_“Why’re you like this?” 2D mumbled, interrupting Murdoc before he could change the channel. His voice was low and full of sorrow. “I just want to talk about it… no, I need_ _to talk about it.”_

_Murdoc locked his jaw and looked away. “I don't know what you're yammering about.”_

_“Jamaica—”_

_“We are_ not _talking about that.”_

_“D’you really hate me that much?” 2D asked again, his words slurring together as his frown deepened. “Thought we had a good thing going in Jamaica… I thought we made up. But when we got back, you go an' act like nothing ever happened between us.”_

_“What a load of—”_

_"S'been on my mind ever since. I miss it so much. I can't understand how you got over it so fast."_

_Murdoc's gripping onto the arm of the sofa so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. The other's pitch black eyes were still glazed over, but it never lost the seriousness under the surface. It was impossible to brush off 2D when he was like this._

_Murdoc could feel his own heart racing a million miles per minute._

_"Because it means nothing,” Murdoc casually said, trying to defuse the tension, “you prat.”_

_Silence. 2D looked down at his hands, the hurt evident on his face._

_“Why d'you keep pushing me away, Muds?” 2D asked quietly. “Did I do something in Jamaica? Just… just tell me. I don't understand you. Why'd you kiss me first, then?"_

_Murdoc's face turned white. “W-w-what? Y-you were the one who snogged me, Dents.”_

_2D smiled at Murdoc as if he knew full well that he was lying._

_“Maybe I should just stop waiting for you to make the first move again. Muds,” he pondered aloud, “are you scared of me?”_

_Before Murdoc could ridicule 2D for his statement, the drunken singer lurched forward and kissed him._

* * *

**Point Nemo, June 2008 - same day, late afternoon**

The nightmare didn’t end when 2D woke up.

When his eyes finally flutter open, a dull ache pounding away at his temples, he finds himself lying on a cot in a darkened room. He had to strain his mind to remember how he had found himself there in the first place. 

How long had he been out? God, he couldn’t even tell. He doesn’t know how long Murdoc had locked him in the goddamn suitcase. It could’ve been weeks since Beirut.

He had to leave.

The room he wakes up in is unremarkable, but strangely, it felt… cozy? There were pieces of junk and litter strewn about the room, stray articles of clothing (clean or not, 2D couldn't discern) scattered about the room and stuffed into half-open drawers, and furniture arranged into an unnerving facsimile of his former bedroom in Kong Studios. Not something he was expecting as a captive. He was expecting something more ‘single bed in one corner, metal pan in the other’ — not something drab yet lived-in.

Perhaps the strangest part is how thoughtful the layout of the space was. Clearly some care was put into making the space habitable. Lined in a messy shelf on the far side of the room are DVDs and books. Mostly horror, but a stray fantasy film or children’s book here and there break the uniformity; there’s a dusty Casio VL-1 propped on a stand, even some old vinyl records that, upon closer inspection, are of all his favorite bands. Human League. The Clash. New Order. It all looks so _familiar._

There’s a small coffee table in his room with an iPad on it. Nice, but there’s no internet when he checks for a signal. The only apps on it are for music. It's nothing more than an expensive toy for 2D to tinker with. He sets it down and continues his search.

2D’s lips purse when he happens upon a battered old TV set and a three-seater sofa in the corner. It takes him only a second to realize why the room felt familiar.

Almost everything in the room is his. It’s _h_ _is_ stuff… or stuff that had been left behind in Kong Studios.

_“Enjoy your new accommodations, Dents.”_

2D scoffs when the line pops into his mind. Was this what Murdoc meant? Why the hell did he sound so ominous, then? Didn't everything burn up in the ‘accident’? Aside from the fact that his ‘cozy’ room was still a prison, the only door he could find was locked from the other side. Hardly what a person would call enjoyable accommodations.

In his haste to light the room, 2D fails to find a light switch on the wall. Instead, he elects to draw open the curtains, letting sunlight stream into his tiny cell—

He's immediately welcomed with the sight of a giant eye staring right at him.

For the second time that day, 2D abuses his vocal cords, letting out a scream of fright as he tumbles off the bed and onto the floor. The eye gazes at him, unblinking and watchful, until its owner swims away from the window and allows 2D to get a glimpse of a sleek form.

No, not just any window. _Porthole_. And no, not just any creature. _Whale_. It's an honest-to-god, fucking whale. The eye was a pitch black in color, not unlike his own. No visible sclera. Unblinking. A frightening intelligence lurking beneath. Watching, waiting with a cool hunger.

2D thinks he could die of cardiac arrest then and there.

Unfortunately, he doesn't. Or couldn't. All he could do was curl up at the foot of his bed, and wrap himself in a blanket. He couldn't even force himself to get up and cover up the porthole, too afraid to check if the whale had started watching him again.

Seconds, minutes, hours later— he can't tell how long he's been sitting there— the silence was broken by the sound of a heavy metal door unlocking. When the light of the outdoor hallway bathes him, he's met with another familiar appearance.

“Noodle—” he calls to the person almost reflexively, before realizing his mistake. No, not Noodle at all. An impostor. Someone… no, some _thing_ wearing her skin.

The thought made 2D sick to his stomach. Murdoc replaced her. He _replaced_ Noodle.

“Eat," the impostor Noodle says simply. She's carrying a tray in one hand and a notebook in the other. There's a bowl of soup and a warm cup of tea perched on the tray.

2D only shakes his head and looks away.

She sets the tray down on his coffee table anyways.

“If you're not going to eat… then learn,” she says, placing the spiral notebook next to it. “Master needs you in the recording room early next morning.”

2D makes a face at 'master'. Before he could comment, the Noodle spins on her heel and leaves, locking the door behind her.

He stares at the space Not-Noodle left for a long moment. Stunned, he rises, walks to the coffee table and sinks into the sofa. He pulls the notebook on the coffee table towards him and flips through it. It's blank save for the first few pages, of which only two are written in somewhat-neat writing: lyrics to a track called ‘Stylo.’

2D sighs. Slowly, he takes a sip of the tea on the tray.

It tastes strongly of peppermint.

* * *

**Kong Studios, November 2005 - same night**

_He’s dreaming again. Or so drunk that he’s imagining things. There’s absolutely no other explanation for what’s happening right now. This was the only way this, any of this, could make sense to Murdoc’s addled mind. There's no way that the singer, his complacent bandmate,_ 2D of all people, _had the fucking audacity to initiate a kiss with him. It just wasn’t possible._

_But 2D’s lips felt so soft. Real._

_Murdoc tried to shift out of 2D’s hold, but it only succeeded in annoying the other. With a grunt, 2D reached out and wrapped his arms around Murdoc's waist. He wasn’t truly pinned down, but the sheer shock that he experienced from 2D surprising him was enough to have held him in place for a few solid beats._

_He should definitely just shove 2D and run away, but it felt like every muscle in his body had wound itself into knots. His hands stay balled into fists at his sides, unmoving but trembling. He’s paralyzed. Murdoc’s mind had blanked as soon as 2D had leaned in. The recalcitrant singer took it as a sign to loop his arm around Murdoc's neck and seal their lips together for the second time. And because Murdoc had stayed frozen for too long, 2D had the chance to angle himself better and slant his eager tongue into the other's mouth._

_2D was soft, and his flavor was one of a pungent mix of bitter whiskey and drugs and cigarette ash and a dash of refreshing peppermint. It explodes like a starburst on Murdoc's tongue. It's so strong that he nearly shuddered from the intensity. Recoiled from the excessiveness._

_And yet, it's so familiar that he can’t help but draw closer._

_Instead of pushing his bandmate away, Murdoc hesitantly reciprocated the pull, placing two hands on 2D’s shoulders and leaning in ever-so-slightly. Murdoc can feel the unsteady thrum of his own heartbeat in his ears. His stomach was churning. But he didn’t break the kiss._

_He must be out of his damn mind._

_2D's hands flew to Murdoc's face, brushing two thumbs across the sensitive skin of his cheeks. He's doing that thing that he used to do while they're kissing, the one Murdoc remembered liking so much. Gentle fingers rake through his hair, over and over, slow and sensuous and soothing. Murdoc has no idea how to interpret the simple gesture, but its tenderness used to linger for days. He’s not really used to it. He’s more used to carnal touches or outright violence._

_It’s nice. But it made him feel very, very hungry for something. This might be one of the longest kisses Murdoc's ever had in some time. It's a stark contrast to the fleeting ones he and 2D used to have, years ago, back when their first music video had just been shot, shared on sandy white beaches and in salty blue waves._

_Growing tired of 2D’s chaste kisses, Murdoc took over almost instinctively. He sidled up and dipped his own tongue into 2D’s mouth, to which the other almost lapped and sucked on greedily. That voice, that unfairly seductive voice that was now grunting and growling into their kiss, sent a pulse of want straight to Murdoc’s groin that he promptly squashed._

_No, he’s not the one here who’s not in his right mind. It’s 2D who’s further gone than he was. He’s probably drunk off his tits. Surely, if the idiot was in his right mind, he wouldn’t have leaned in to kiss Murdoc in the first place._

_Murdoc barely contained his full-body tremble when 2D licked into his mouth, sliding the wet muscle against his own tongue so obscenely. Saliva pooled at the corner of Murdoc’s mouth, until it dribbled down his chin to the slope of his own neck. He doesn’t wipe it off. 2D didn’t seem to care._

_He's just swept up in 2D’s whirlwind. Really._

_He’s still as good of a kisser as Murdoc remembered. 2D’s reciprocating and responding in the exact same way he did, back when they first kissed. Years ago, 2D had tasted of coconut margarita and rum and vodka and broken promises. Now, he tasted of addiction. Murdoc just wanted to get_ _closer_. 

_2D’s hands slipped down to Murdoc’s waist. In one smooth movement, he ground their clothed cocks together through the denim of their jeans, earning a surprised gasp from Murdoc. The swear that built up in Murdoc’s throat was promptly swallowed by another one of 2D’s kisses._

_“W-w-want you, Muds,” 2D mumbled against his lips. His crotch rubbed up against Murdoc's, and the shorter man figured out_ exactly _how much he is wanted._

_Funny, that. It was precisely the same thing 2D had said to him that warm night in Jamaica, right before Murdoc had snogged him for the first time. And to be honest, he’d never felt guilty about shagging 2D after he had confessed. Who would say no to sex with a pretty and willing singer with a voice like pure honey, moaning your name and writhing under your touch? Fuck, the kind of noises 2D made when Murdoc pounded into him sounded better than music to his ears._

_2D’s hands were all over him, tugging up the hem of his shirt to reveal more of his skin. Murdoc just laid there, numbly processing it all, comparing 2D’s movements to his past self._

_He’s just as meticulous as before. Which is in fact not very much. He’s sloppy, uncoordinated and unfocused, but single-minded in his attempts to get as much clothing off Murdoc as he could._

_It was nice to see him so… desperate._

_Why didn’t he just keep doing this with 2D? Murdoc was having a hard time remembering. 2D would’ve been such a convenient, useful shag on the regular. It would’ve kept the singer docile and scratched Murdoc’s itches if he couldn’t find anyone else to humor him. At least Faceache would’ve been of much more use to him than just being the airheaded singer of his band._

_Murdoc’s brought back to reality when 2D’s shirt tore under his own claws. Murdoc had quite literally ripped it off 2D's body, but the taller man didn’t even seem to notice or care. He was still completely enthralled by Murdoc, a dopey smile permanently plastered on his face. He leaned back down to kiss the bassist again._

_Murdoc tilted his head a hair to the side on instinct. A minute reaction, but apparently enough of a rejection for 2D to hesitate. Murdoc focused himself on the dull, dry voices coming from the television. It served to ground him._

_Ah, yes. Now it’s coming back to him. In the last days of their trip to Jamaica, 2D had brought up the possibility of a relationship. An_ exclusive _one. Of course Murdoc had laughed him off and never addressed it again, he was never one for commitments. He_ never _got attached like that._

_Never._

_“Murdoc?” 2D’s placid voice said his name like a murmured prayer. Concern was bleeding into his tone._

_Murdoc’s own intrusive yet elucidating thoughts gave him pause. All the air had been sucked out of the room. The only sounds he could hear was his own infuriating heart, racing away in his chest ferociously. And, more faintly, the soft drone of the documentary voiceover in the background, calmly narrating the feeding habits of rare fin whales. Neither of them moved a muscle. For a long while, 2D held Murdoc’s gaze, his face cast in a dim haze as he looked back with_ — _Satan save him_ — _hope, of all things._

_Just before he could get kissed again, Murdoc splayed his palms on the other’s chest and shoved so hard that 2D landed on the floor with a heavy thump. There’s a heavy, oppressive minute of shock and silence as the weight of what transpired dawned on them both. Time seemed to stop completely._

_They stared at each other._

_The world restarted again when the documentary segued to a commercial break, its dissonant audio ruining the electrifying moment. Something in Murdoc clicked and he scrambled off the sofa, backing away from the astonished 2D._

_“Dents. Stay the fuck away from me,” Murdoc commanded in a tone he hoped to hell was a level one, before turning tail and rushing out of the room._

* * *

**Point Nemo, ??? 2008/9 - ???**

Time held no meaning for 2D.

All days looked the same on Plastic Beach. Just an unceasing cycle of light and dark, day and night, dawn and dusk, while he toiled away on their— sorry, _Murdoc’s_ — album. 2D rarely even bothered to know what the date was nowadays. What’s the use of knowing it in a place where his day-to-day activities were decided by a bastard bassist? Every minute of his day was planned out for him already. 2D had no reason to know. And In the time that 2D’s been on the island, he has never seen a way off. For all his efforts in trying to find an escape route, he always failed and was subsequently hunted, brought back, and beaten down by Murdoc’s robotic lackey.

The only thing left for him to do was play along to Murdoc’s whims. It’s become a waiting game for 2D now. Which one would get finished first: the album or the last vestiges of his sanity? The latter was wearing dangerously thin, especially when a certain _someone_ seemed hell-bent on inflicting the maximum amount of pain and suffering on him.

Case-in-point: his prison— sorry, _bedroom_. The only source of light comes from sunlight streaming through the porthole right above his cot, but 2D could hardly bring himself to let light in when he knew that there could be a cetacean waiting to peer into his room, only separated from 2D by a mere inch of glass. He knows the design of his room was completely intentional.

2D kept the drapes drawn, but it wasn’t enough to stop his dreams of a murderous whale crunching through the flimsy barrier with blunt teeth. He knows it’s out there, he can see its dark figure filter through the curtains. He’s never safe.

 _“You’re collateral,”_ Murdoc tells him. _“_ _If you even think about escaping, I’ll feed you to my friend Massive Dick here. Surprisingly, I didn’t name ‘im, a group of explorers did. Nice, innit? Wish I thought of it.”_

But what truly made his stay at Plastic Beach unbearable, what truly made it nightmarish for him, wasn’t the damn whale, or his dreams associated with it. The lurking beast may have filled him with fear, but it was Murdoc himself, the orchestrator, someone he once thought of as a _friend,_ that gave him a dread so overwhelming that the feeling became a permanent fixture at the pit of his stomach. It was _him_ who tailor-made this living nightmare.

After years of not seeing Murdoc, it wasn’t hard to notice how much the bassist had changed. Murdoc still had the cocksure attitude and relative charisma (at least in front of the cameras), but now there was a hint of unhinged lunacy that colored his every action. There was no telling what the man would do, how he would react to the tiniest of things. He rarely crossed paths with his bandmate, but almost every encounter they’ve had so far resulted in one of Murdoc’s legendary meltdowns— whether it resulted in screaming matches or 2D being punched and kicked to within an inch of his life was a toss-up. He preferred neither and elected to hole up in his tiny room and sit on his ratty sofa, mindlessly going over the songs he’s been given or making shadows of his own songs on his iPad.

And yet, despite the unabashed cruelty, Murdoc seemed to make… concessions, for his sake. As if they were given in lieu of an apology. Strange offerings that made 2D confused about what Murdoc really wanted to do with him. Like 2D being given the choice to wander the Plastic Beach grounds on his off hours instead of being confined to his room in the first place. Or 2D having permission to watch his favorite movies and books. Or being allowed to tinker and experiment with music apps on an iPad, clearly gifted to him intentionally. Or even having the chance to talk alongside the man on his radio show, who sometimes acted so jovial that 2D forgot that he was a captive for a few precious hours.

_(In times like those, he's always unwillingly reminded of past memories; simpler bygone times when he could sit next to Murdoc talking endlessly about nothing in particular, or practice songs next to him, or just listen to him pluck the strings of his bass. Or worse still, other kinds of fond memories surface his mind unbidden; ones of hushed exchanges on a tranquil beach far more beautiful than Point Nemo ever will be, sipping rum punch under a twilight haze, singing nonsensical songs while sitting on the straw roofs of beach huts, and a thousand other past happenings of some intensely metamorphic weeks in the Carribean.)_

Then he remembers the Noodle imposter and he goes right back to loathing Murdoc again.

The mechanical Noodle servant (or Cyborg Noodle, as 2D was told to call her— _it_ ) was the ever-present guard that greeted him every morning. The very thought of the machine standing sentinel outside his room every night made 2D shudder. 

Maybe Murdoc did tell him the truth. Maybe the bassist really was without fear, because in 2D’s opinion, only a person with absolutely no remorse and regrets— fears— wouldn't think twice about building something that looked so much like their lost band member after _everything_ that happened with El Mañana.

Or, more likely, Murdoc was just a heartless arse. For someone who had sold his own soul to the devil, 2D really shouldn’t have expected anything else. Maybe he should just give up trying to understand his bandmate. It had nothing to do with finding out how to get off the island, all it did was reinforce the belief that Murdoc didn’t have any weaknesses for 2D to exploit.

In retrospect, maybe he should’ve realized much earlier how untrue this belief was. 

Spite and resentment from his situation made 2D refuse to give much thought to the songs that Murdoc forced him to sing. It was only later, when he had settled into an uneasy routine in his new home and he was poring over the lyrics of new songs for him to memorize, that he reads something strange.

_But i just have to tell that i love you so much these days_

_Have to tell you that i love you so much these days, it's true_

It took everything in him not to laugh at the sheer hypocrisy and irony of _Murdoc_ writing a love song. A bloody _love song._

_Up on Melancholy Hill_

_There's a plastic tree_

_Are you here with me?_

Another one. 2D bites the inside of his cheek.

_It's broken_

_Our love_

_Broken_

And the next. He rifles through Murdoc's list of songs again, hovering his finger over song lyrics.

_Well you can't get what you want_

_But you can get me_

_So let's set out to sea, love_

_'Cause you are my medicine_

_When you're close to me_

2D starts to wonder.

_I'll wait to be forgiven_

_Maybe I never will_

He watches Murdoc much more closely after the discovery.

* * *

**Kong Studios, November 2005 - one week later**

_“Why’re you avoiding me, Muds?”_

_Murdoc stopped dead in his tracks. For a second he deliberated on ignoring 2D’s voice to keep walking, but he decided against it. It’s been a whole week of locking himself in his room and studiously skirting rooms that 2D happened to be in. Russel’s already pointed out the weird tension brewing between him and the singer, and if Murdoc knew Noodle well, he’d wager that it hadn’t escaped her notice as well. If he wanted to avoid a repeat of the Jamaica aftermath again, he had to nip this in the bud once and for all._

_He slowly turned to face 2D. The sight of 2D, timid and unsure, made him oddly at ease. It’s like the dullard’s nervousness was soothing him._

_“M’not avoiding you,” he lied smoothly. “I was in my Winne. Tuning my bass and practicing, like we’re_ supposed _to be doing.”_

_2D ignored the pointed remark and stepped closer, as if to position himself in case Murdoc tried to flee. “Yes you are,” he countered. “You’re avoiding me. Every time I see you, you always disappear. Just today, you left the kitchen when I came in and didn’t even take the food you took out of the fridge with you. S’like you don’t want to see me.”_

_“So? I_ don’t _like seeing you most of the time. Could’ve just lost my appetite when I saw your ugly mug.”_

 _2D heaved a sigh, as if he had already passed annoyance and was playing at the edges of resignation. “Muds, we can’t just keep acting like nothing’s going on whenever… this… happens. M’sorry, alright? I didn’t think I’d scare you off_ — _”_

_“Is there a point to this?” Murdoc interrupted with a glower._

_2D held up both his hands, almost like a move to placate. He takes another step forward. “Right. Whatever you say. I just don’t want to avoid this like last time, Muds. I don’t want this to be like Jamaica. It’s cutting me up on the inside.”_

_“This is nothing like Jamaica.”_

_“Murdoc._ Please.”

_“You want to talk about it? Fine.You kissed me. I didn’t like it. I asked you to stay the fuck away from me. What else do you want?”_

_2D makes a noise of protest in his throat. "You kissed me back," 2D said, and Murdoc hated how the singer's tone turned pleading._

_“Hard not to, when you stuck your tongue down my throat.”_

_“You really gonna stand there and tell me you didn’t feel anything?” Another step from 2D, far too close to him for comfort. Murdoc’s heart started to beat again. “After everything that happened between us?”_

_“I don’t know what kind of answer you want from me, but you’ll never get it.”_

_“I_ — _” Before 2D could take another step, forcing Murdoc to crane his neck upward just to meet the other’s challenging gaze, the bassist acts almost on instinct. He balled his hand into a fist and struck 2D’s cheek, putting all the force of his frustration and anxiety in one deft blow. The resulting impact of knuckle against jaw was almost as satisfying as watching the tall singer topple like a felled tree._

_“Yes. I am,” Murdoc clarified as an afterthought._

_2D’s brows were knit together when he lifted his gaze to Murdoc's._

_“That's your answer, Dents. You fell for me, is that it?” he asked mockingly, sneering at the fallen man. “You did, didn’t you? Cute. It’s enough to make me gag.”_

_2D looked at him with murder in his eyes, hands clutching his hurt jaw. But there’s also a hint of disappointment in his expression that Murdoc wanted nothing more than to stamp out._

_2D. Ever the insistent one. Loyal to a fault._

_Murdoc made no exceptions. He stuck to his principles. He needed to shake 2D off before the singer started getting any ideas— thinking that Murdoc cared about him, thinking that open affection and a relationship with him was anything but the last thing Murdoc wanted, thinking that their time together in Jamaica was Murdoc allowing himself to shake off his outer layers and letting himself be truly happy for a few euphoric weeks._

_Murdoc frowned at the last thought and tamped it down violently before it could whisper to him._

_“I don’t blame you, there’s not a soul alive who could resist the Niccals charm. But I don't know how to make this any more clear to you, Dents. I hate_ _you. What were you expecting from me, hmm? You’ll confess and I’ll be what, your boyfriend?” Murdoc guffawed, like he thought the very idea of it was absurd. “Get your head out of your arse, faggot. We shagged, we went home, then our little tryst ended. That’s it.”_

_"You—”_

_“It was a summer fling. Don’t you get it? I_ used _you, you tit. Put it in that thick skull of yours.” Murdoc rolled his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “If you knew me any better, you’d know I don't 'fall in love,' Dents. That’s ridiculous. I’d sooner admit to listening to Madonna... not that I do listen to her, mind.”_

_Murdoc casually stepped over 2D’s body, leaving the singer on the floor as he continued his journey to his Winne. He paused._

_“Ice that before band practice tomorrow, I don’t want Russel or Noodle asking any questions if it bruises,” he called over his shoulder, his voice surprisingly steady for someone who thinks he’s about to pass out. “And take my word for it when I tell you to fuck off next time, yeah? Consider this a learning experience.”_

* * *

**2D’s personal hell, ??? 200? - it doesn’t matter**

“Go away.”

“No. You require sustenance,” asks the emotionless voice, familiar enough for 2D to be dipped right back into uncanny valley. Only the crackle-snap of her artificial vocal cords and her flat inflection gives it away. “Master has admonished me for your actions. Please accept your supplements.”

“Why punish you?” 2D retorts derisively, turning his back to her. “Ain’t your fault that I do what I want.”

“I’m supposed to care for you,” Cyborg Noodle answers, ignoring 2D’s scoff. “You have refused to eat _—_ ”

“I’m not hungry,” 2D cuts her sentence short, throwing the covers over his head and curling up on his cot. “So tell your ‘master’ to fuck off. I’m done recording today, s’not like he cares ‘bout me as long as I do what he says, yeah? I’m _fine."_

“But you have not eaten in _—_ ”

“I said m’not hungry. Leave me alone.”

The ensuing silence was loud. Before 2D’s will could break from the oppressive quiet, though, he hears the sound of quiet footsteps and the scrape of a metal door opening behind the robot. 2D exhales in relief and allows himself to relax for a brief moment. 

That is, until he hears another telltale scrape of a door being shut and his blanket was ripped off of him. Because _of course_ the person who had caused his torment would be here. Of course he would loathe even the tiniest of defiances and punish him for it.

“Do you have a death wish?” Murdoc hisses, grabbing fistfuls of 2D’s collar and shaking him awake.

“Generally? Yeah,” 2D says truthfully.

Murdoc slaps 2D’s face hard, forcing the singer to full consciousness. 

“What the _HELL,_ Murdoc?” 2D yells, his sleepiness giving way to anger.

“Oi, don’t get your knickers in a twist. M’just making sure you're aware of the pure, untainted idiocy coming out of your mouth.”

2D resists the urge to deck the bassist. He knew Murdoc was just itching to have a go at him, and he wasn’t about to give him that satisfaction easily so he swallows his retort. “Why d’you care so much, Murdoc? S’not like I haven’t been helping ya finish your album.”

“I didn’t go through all the trouble of getting you here only for you to keel over ‘fore we’re done ‘cause you’re starving yourself. I’m being kind, Faceache. Stop being so bloody difficult and eat. Or 'll make Cyborg stick a couple o’ IVs in you. I’ll get it in you one way or another.”

“Kind?” 2D parrots bitterly, chuckling in disbelief. He shakes off the hands that were still fisted into his collar and pulls his knees to his chest. “That’s what you’re calling this? Keeping me prisoner? Takin’ away my painkillers? Sticking me in the room with that blasted whale?"

"Oh come off it. S’not that bad."

“Right. How about making me sing your stupid love songs because you’re too much of a pansy to tell someone your feelings? So much for that Niccals charm, huh?”

He regrets putting his foot in his mouth almost immediately when Murdoc levels him with a frigid stare.

 _“What_ did you say?” Murdoc asks with a straight face but the tone of his voice betrays him right away. The temperature in the room seems to drop several degrees.

Another silence, even louder than the last.

2D bites his lip, unable to take his words back anymore. “I said… I said you’re a coward. Can’t even say you love someone straight to their face.”

Triumph rushes in 2D when Murdoc sucks in a sharp breath. _He’s hit the mark._ 2D almost can’t believe how simple it was to find the bleeding center of Murdoc’s weak point. Just like that, he could jab his thumb into it and dig in until it hurts the other man.

“'Cause that’s what this is, innit?” 2D presses on, biting the bullet now that his thoughts were out in the open. “The great Murdoc Niccals finally fell in love, an’ you couldn’t handle your feelings. So now you’re writing sappy love songs and puttin' it in your stupid album instead of talking ‘bout it like a normal person.”

Murdoc’s fists were clenching and unclenching, as if he was uncertain whether to use them or not. “Dents. You really do have a death wish, don’t you?”

“Threaten me all ya want. Doesn’t mean I’m any less right. I’d be sad about it, too, if you hadn’t had it coming to you. You expect anyone to stick around when you’re allergic to your own feelings?”

Murdoc holds his gaze for what seems like an eternity. When he works his jaw open, no sound comes out.

2D smirks. “Thought so. Y’know, you’re not that subtle, Murdoc. Who’s the unlucky girl this time, huh? Did she stick around long to realize what an absolute bellend you are?”

“Stop. TALKING.”

“Or _what,_ Muds? You’ll hit me? Just a normal day at this sodding island.” 2D flicks an invisible piece of lint off his shoulder, feigning nonchalance. “Beat me all ya want, Murdoc, doesn’t change the fact that you liked her—”

Quick as lightning, Murdoc pins 2D to his mattress. It’s enough to surprise the singer but it doesn’t stop him from speaking his mind.

“—and she didn’t like you back—”

Their gazes lock. Long fingers wrap around 2D's neck and squeeze hard.

“—you didn’t do anything to keep her around—”

Air is forced out of 2D’s lungs. But the truth escapes much faster. 

“—and you fucked it up with her,” 2D finishes with a desperate gasp, which Murdoc blocks with a knee to his stomach. “You fucked up, an’ she left... Christ, Murdoc, I can’t breathe.”

Murdoc’s fingers tighten even more.

“She— she never loved you, did she?” 2D knows he’s being excessively cruel, but in all honesty, he deserved to say this, after all the misery and humiliation the other man had put him through. He’ll die spitting in Murdoc’s face. "Good— _wheeze—_ good for her."

But instead of 2D’s last line being the final, decisive blow, the other man’s lips twitch up into a rueful smile, as if something in his words had amused him. Murdoc’s hands uncurl from 2D’s neck.

“Oh mate, you really know fuck-all about me.”

“I know more than you think. I ain’t been your bandmate of ten years for nothin’.”

Murdoc regards him with infuriating mirth. “You think a bird left me after I didn’t shackle up with her.”

“That’s exactly what this is,” 2D snaps, rubbing his neck. He tries not to let his bitterness seep through. “You said the same thing to her like you said to me. ‘I don’t fall in love,’ and all that bollocks. She saw right through you, hated it, and left. Am I right?”

Murdoc didn’t answer back, though his thoughts were written all over his face. Strangely, the bassist looked to be restraining his laughter. 

“What the hell’s so funny? M’not telling a joke!” 

A dam bursts. Murdoc doubles over and clutches his stomach, barely hiding the full-body chortles spilling out of him. 2D studies the other man in confusion, letting a full five minutes pass without comment before Murdoc’s laughter dies down.

“Dents, everything coming out of your mouth is a joke. You’re saying she left because she didn’t like me,” Murdoc says, wiping a tear.

“I— yes?” 2D flounders, already getting the sinking feeling that he was missing something very, _very_ important.

“So you’re saying, if I made a move, she would’ve stayed?” Murdoc concludes as he starts to shift closer to 2D on the bed. There’s a predatory glint to his pupils that 2D didn’t like _at all_. “She hated me because I didn’t do anything.”

2D shudders involuntarily at Murdoc’s words. “Well— I— if she left you, she never liked you,” he stammers, trying to get one last jab in. “So you should back off an—”

“Idiot. He was the one who told me he loved me.”

2D didn’t even have a second to process the shift in pronouns before the other man grabs his thigh and squeezes it tightly.

“You said that if he was here now, I should keep him close,” Murdoc continues. He’s staring at 2D now with an unsettling laserlike focus. “Maybe if I did something, he would’ve known how much he really needed me. But see here, I have a problem. The bloke I like is a bit thick.”

2D gulps down the lump in his throat.

“So how should I tell him to stay, Dents? Any suggestions?” Murdoc asks, deceptively sweet. It’s then that 2D sees just how compromising their positions might look to an outsider. Murdoc’s hovering over him on the bed, and here he was, looking up at the man like a damsel waiting to be ravished.

2D’s dizzy. The grip on his thigh hurts. 

Murdoc doesn’t wait for an answer. He bares his teeth in a smile at 2D, showing off entirely too many teeth.“Maybe I should’ve just taken what I wanted, right?”

“Muds, what are you— _mmmm!”_

Murdoc swings his legs over 2D’s hips, straddling the taller man and caging him with his arms. The knee to 2D’s stomach disappears, but it’s replaced with something arguably worse. Rough lips collide with his own in a forceful motion that had 2D nearly breathless. His mind completely shuts down and blanks. The kiss happens so fast that he hardly has time to react for the first few seconds. The sheer, utter panic that seizes him works to his disadvantage, allowing Murdoc to further entrap him with his arms. 2D lays as still as a statue, wide-eyed as his bandmate moves above him.

If Murdoc was aware of how immobile 2D was, he gave no indication of it. He kisses 2D like he was a responsive lover, raking sharp nails through his blue hair almost like a parody of what 2D had done for him before. But Murdoc’s claws dig into the skin of his scalp hard enough to draw blood.

“Get _off me!_ ” 2D wails, feebly shoving Murdoc to no avail. The other man pulls away from his mouth, but makes no move to get off 2D.

“What’s the matter? I’m just taking your advice,” Murdoc says innocently. “I’ll show you exactly how I felt being around you. This is what you wanted, right? M’not sitting on my arse anymore. I’m being _proactive.”_

Just five minutes ago, this turn of events would have been completely unfathomable to 2D. If he had been his younger, more naive self, who had still been enamored with Murdoc, perhaps he would’ve been thrilled by it. Murdoc was nothing if not a caring partner during sex. Even now, there’s still a flutter in 2D’s traitorous heart whenever Murdoc touches his bare skin. It reminds him of what used to be— what they could’ve been.

What they should’ve been. 

But now? 2D’s horrified, because a thousand new thoughts about Murdoc were racing through his mind and he was connecting a million dots that he should’ve connected just five fucking minutes ago.

Murdoc tries to pull 2D’s shirt over his head, but due to the other’s resistance, it ends up bunched around his forearms. The singer squirms even more when Murdoc’s hot palms sear into his chest, touching him in places too intimate for his liking. 2D silently curses himself for refusing to eat and letting his own body grow weak.

“Stop being so difficult,” Murdoc murmurs. He tweaks a nipple, which earned him a squeal of indignation from his bandmate.

“You’re sick, Murdoc. Sick in the head,” 2D spits, writhing wildly and making it no easier for the other man to undress him. “You’re fucking mental. If you think this’ll make me love you—”

“And who said,” Murdoc interrupts loudly, “anything about wanting you to love me?”

2D snaps his jaw shut as the plain truth of Murdoc’s statement washes over him. In 2D’s complete, utter bewilderment, Murdoc manages to work his jeans down to his ankles. 2D’s brain restarts a smidge too late. Kicking the bassist only resulted in the scratchy denim of his jeans tugging off completely. In a last-ditch effort to stop Murdoc's cruel idea of a joke, he switches gears and tries a different tactic.

“Please, Muds! What’re you even doing?” 2D pleads, fighting the humiliating sting of tears. “What’re you even getting out of this?” 

“What do I get out of this? How ‘bout a chance to teach you a lesson?” Murdoc smoothly rips 2D's boxers off him and sits his full weight on his legs. The taller man cries out at the unwelcome rush of cold that licks at his naked groin. “That’s right. _Beg.”_

“How the fuck is this supposed to teach me?!” _God, someone help_ —

“I like that desperate and scared look on your face. Suits you, don't ya think? Well, it’s simple. You want to know my _feelings?”_ Murdoc’s nose wrinkles at the last word, like saying it left a bad taste in his mouth. “You want to see how badly you fucked me up? Fine. I’ll let you rattle around in my head. Let’s see how well you deal with real fear, dullard. I’d like to see you last as long as I did.”

Something awful settles in 2D’s gut when he connects the final dot.

Murdoc _wanted_ him. 

But what Murdoc wanted even more was revenge.

Those two weren’t opposing desires.

“Feeling comfortable, Dents?” Murdoc inquires, cutting into 2D’s thoughts. A contemptuous smirk plays on his face. “Maybe it’s too dark in here. We should let a little light in.”

Murdoc suddenly turns towards the dreaded porthole, and to 2D’s absolute horror, he rips the curtains clean off, allowing the bright blue of the sea to spill into his tiny room. Thankfully, there’s no plate-sized black eye staring at them, but just the _thought_ of the whale returning had him screeching and trying to roll off his bed. Murdoc foists his palm over 2D’s mouth and forces him back down into the soft mattress.

“Enjoy the view, and relax,” Murdoc replies serenely, knowing full well why 2D was so riled up. If 2D’s eyes weren’t glued to the porthole, he would’ve been shooting daggers at him. He also wouldn't have noticed the warm, wet fingers prodding into his hole earlier if it wasn’t for one of Murdoc’s claws dragging on the delicate skin of the rim. His yowl of surprise was swiftly muffled by Murdoc squeezing the palm he had over his lips like a makeshift gag.

“This would be easier and less painful for the both of us if you stop moving.”

“Keep your— _mmmph—_ dirty hands to yourself!” 2D’s thrashing starts up again when Murdoc starts dribbling sticky, oozing saliva over his fingers. “Just stop!” 

The bassist’s fingers slip in much easier this time due to the added lubricant. Murdoc takes no precautions in being gentle, and 2D could clearly feel it when the other’s nails scrape his insides. Before he knew it, there was a third finger, and the invasive stretch of his sensitive hole around the digits was so uncomfortable that he was cursing by the time Murdoc had withdrawn his fingers.

“You’re so noisy,” Murdoc complains as he unzipped his trousers.

“Fuck you,” 2D shoots back under Murdoc’s hand when his legs were forced apart.

“Gladly,” says Murdoc, and 2D regrets his choice of words.

2D’s strangled yelp catches in his throat when Murdoc pushes inside. Even with Murdoc’s disgusting saliva coating his cock, it still did little to mask the initial burn of his entry. 2D’s hands fist into the fabric of his bed when Murdoc sheathes into him entirely. 

“Fuck, you’re as tight as a virgin. Have you not had anything up your arse since our last time?”

2D doesn’t say anything, both because he didn’t want to dignify the lewd comment with a response and because he was preoccupied with trying to stop himself from sobbing. He’s so full and it feels _wrong._ He won’t allow Murdoc to relish in his misery easily but it’s easy to get lost in the sensation of the stretch of his hole around Murdoc’s cock.

He tries to feign indifference but unluckily for him, Murdoc could read him like an open book. The bassist sets a brutal pace from the get-go, slamming into 2D in a way that made the singer hiss in pain. The friction of Murdoc’s shaft rubbing against his mostly-dry walls was absolute torture.

Murdoc stuffs his fingers further into 2D’s mouth as a response.

“Quiet.”

The dizziness from before returns in full force. He tries to lie still and look away while Murdoc pounds into him, forcing his mind to wander while his body is being violated by his bandmate. His own cock remains limp and flaccid against his thigh. God, he just wants to fist his dick to get _some_ semblance of pleasure.

Just a few more minutes lying still. Murdoc couldn’t possibly last long, right?

The dual dose of pain and shame is enough to knock 2D straight out. But before the sweet enticement of unconsciousness could claim him, Murdoc’s thrusts slow to a crawl until it stops almost entirely. 2D’s questioning glance only garners a smirk of amusement from the bassist. Murdoc leans in, almost conspiratorially, and jerks a thumb towards the porthole.

“Looks like we have a voyeur,” Murdoc stage-whispers. Slowly, 2D tilts his head in the direction he was pointing at.

A giant, unblinking black eye fills the view of the entire window.

2D’s shrieks were blood-curdling, barely stifled by Murdoc’s hand.

“M-m-muds! Murdoc, make it go away, please. Please. PLEASE, _MURDOC_ — _”_

“Did I tell you to move? I said _I’m not done_.” 

Despite every cell in his body screaming at him to run and hide from the whale, something in Murdoc’s voice makes 2D still. The other man takes his chin and forces him to face the whale’s eye directly.

“Don’t look away from that whale,” Murdoc says in the same petrifying tone, “or I’ll make you do something you’ll _really_ regret.”

2D stares at it.

Murdoc starts thrusting again, this time with renewed vigor. 2D doesn’t flinch away from his eye contact with the whale when Murdoc’s claws dig into his hip bones too tightly, doesn’t look away when Murdoc sinks sharp canines into the delicate skin of his neck, doesn’t turn his head when Murdoc starts licking stripes up his chest.

He doesn’t glance back when Murdoc’s cock hits something in him that makes him moan in stunted pleasure. 2D thins his lips and he fails to bite back another groan when Murdoc hits the same place again. 

“Oh, you liked that, didn’t you?” Murdoc asks, clearly delighted with himself. Murdoc snaps his hips forward again, right into the sweet spot. 2D shudders violently and swears when he feels his cock twitch.

“Hate you,” 2D affirms, stupefied.

Murdoc laughs, and it's not the ridiculous, showy _hawhaw-ing_ that he puts on for an audience, but a genuine one, laced with gaiety and good nature that’s in stark contrast to his horrific actions. 2D imagines Murdoc’s smile to be a shadow of the ones he used to make with him on a beach years and years ago.

It’s unbearable. Too much to picture Murdoc like this. 2D shuffles and focuses his attention on the whale outside the window while his bandmate coaxes more unwilling moans out of him with his expert thrusts.

The whale watches back with a distant gaze. Impartial. Unprejudiced.

His toes curl with every feverish piston of Murdoc’s hips. The slap and slide of skin against wet skin makes 2D gasp and spasm in pained pleasure. Each deep dive of Murdoc’s cock burns over and over again. The springs in his mattress squeak in his ear and jab into his back. 2D detaches from reality as Murdoc edges him to his peak. His captor makes 2D see stars, strokes his neglected dick with an expert hand after finishing inside him. He’s just as attentive as 2D remembers.

The whale continues watching.

When 2D tumbles over the edge, his cum white and hot against his stomach, he sets his sights on a creature’s eyes that he hates.

“Dents. You looked away,” Murdoc informs him, heterochromatic eyes narrowing in disdain.

* * *

**Kong Studios, December 2005 - a few days later**

_“What did you do this time?”_

_Murdoc squinted at the guitarist who had moved to block him before he could escape out the doorway._

_“You’ll have to be more specific,” he drawled._

_“2D. I thought you two were getting along again_ — _well, getting along better than you did before_ — _but now he’s avoiding you. After you had avoided him. What’s going on? Murdoc-san, did you do something foolish?”_

 _He shrugged. “Me? No, ‘course not. Me an’ Dents had an, er,_ _heart-to-heart”_ — _Murdoc sniggers at the absurdity of using the term, miming air quotes_ — _“and we ended up having an agreement of sorts. Let’s just say… he’s holding up his end of the bargain.”_

_Noodle’s gaze turned sharp. “Did you hurt him?”_

_He looked past Noodle, ignoring her distrustful expression, to fix a stare at 2D. The lanky singer was packing away his keyboard, but he’s obviously using the distraction as an excuse to linger and eavesdrop on their conversation._

_“Tit for tat, luv,” Murdoc replied in a voice loud enough for his words to carry. “I won’t do anything to the dullard that I don't think he deserves. Ask him, if you don’t believe me.”_

_2D’s head whipped to Murdoc when he heard the suggestion._

_A second passed._

_The other man clenched his jaw and grimaced. Shaking his head, 2D slung his bag over his shoulder and ducked out of the practice room before Noodle could spot him._

_Murdoc resisted the urge to laugh. It might be a pyrrhic victory, but he’s won. For the first time since he had found out about 2D's secret, Murdoc felt powerful._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Special shoutout to the person who gave me the prompt that fueled this fic, who wanted to see:
> 
> _"Murdoc getting off to 2D's fear of whales by screwing him in front of the window in Plastic Beach."_
> 
> You probably didn't picture your prompt turning out like this, but here. Hope you liked this gift fic. This isn't my usual fare but it was interesting to play around with the idea.
> 
> Edit: I'm claiming this fic! If y'all wanna see the ramblings of a person who cares too much about a certain monkey band, come find me on [tumblr](https://candidcanine.tumblr.com)! Always up for a chat :)


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